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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121544">Same Order Every Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evie_adams273/pseuds/Evie_adams273'>Evie_adams273</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne &amp; Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Albus is a barista, Caffeine, Coffee, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Minor Angst, Muggle AU, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Scorbus Fest 2020, Scorpius is an art student, anxious scorpius, art collab, coffee shop AU, if the art isn't on the piece it's on my twitter, pining albus, scorbus fest, stereotypical art student, written before lockdown</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:14:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121544</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evie_adams273/pseuds/Evie_adams273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus didn't want to take the job as a barista. He hadn't intended to have it for this long. Not because he actively disliked it. Simply because it was so dull. At this point, he knew who all the regulars were. He knew every second of every day. Until today.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Scorbus Fest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Same Order Every Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Albus picked up the job as a barista with the intention that it would only be temporary. Not least because all of the days were starting to blur into one mind-numbingly dull stretch. But here he was, eight weeks later, with no other employment opportunities.</p><p>It wasn’t the worst job in the world, seeing that he could deal with the pissy customers, but it required just enough thought that he couldn’t zone out, while also being wholly uninteresting.</p><p>He still zoned out at least once an hour.</p><p>Things got more interesting around lunch and, strangely enough, about three-thirty. More people turned up and, if they looked friendly, Albus sometimes tried to make conversation. Most people shut it down instinctively,  though some people did respond. It was always stinted, but Albus could understand that. He also didn’t know what to say when people tried to talk to him.</p><p>The café had a few regular students who would come in with laptops and headphones and a need for at least two coffees to couple with their obvious lack of sleep. Albus liked them. He could sympathise with the mild  caffeine overdose they likely experienced monthly.</p><p>Those were the only interesting parts of the day. At least, that was the case until October, when the café door opened and the man that entered quite literally made Albus’ heart stop.</p><p>He had an easel sticking out from the top of his backpack, stopping the bag from being closed, though it appeared he had tried. His tote bag was bursting full of canvases and small boxes. It was also breaking, the straps coming away from the fabric.</p><p>Other than all of this, the man had soft, blond hair that framed his face. Several pencils poked out from behind his ear, also explaining the grey smudges on his cheeks. </p><p>His dungarees were splattered with paint, but the jacket appeared to have just been washed. He had about five or six pin badges, but Albus couldn’t make out what they were.</p><p>He reminded Albus of the art students at his old college; constantly weighed down by art supplies  covered in said supplies;  with the aesthetic of ‘I have not slept in a week and am seriously in need of caffeine’.</p><p>After restarting his brain, Albus gaged that the latter was probably what the man wanted, so he smiled at him. The man approached the counter, dropping his bag at his feet and rolling his shoulder a couple of times.  </p><p>“Hi. Uh – could I get a cameral macchiato, please?”</p><p>“Yes,” Albus nodded, plugging it into the till. “What size?”</p><p>“A – a large. Please.”</p><p>“And could I get a name?”</p><p>“Scorpius.” </p><p>Albus did his best not to scrawl the name on the cup. God knows his handwriting was bad. But he smiled. It wasn’t often that he met someone with a name equally as strange as his own.</p><p>He didn’t mention this. He had no intentions of embarrassing himself in front of this wholly cute and handsome guy.</p><hr/><p>Scorpius came into the café again only a couple of days later. Albus recognised him on sight, partly because Scorpius was displaying a similar level of chaos as he had done in his first visit, and Albus would have recognised him anywhere. </p><p>Albus shook the thought as Scorpius went about ordering the same drink as he had done previously. Albus turned around and starting pulling out the appropriate jugs and powders. Scorpius started humming something that also seemed to be echoing out of his headphones; he’d taken them off when he’d come  in and they were now hanging around his neck. Albus didn’t recognise the song, but Scorpius’ happiness was infectious.</p><p>Albus had spoken to this man a grand total of twice, but it was obvious that Scorpius was the sort of person who made everyone’s world a little brighter. Albus didn’t understand how a person could be so full of light, but he didn’t question it. The idea that Scorpius might become a regular customer made his heart flutter  Even if ‘they’ didn’t go anywhere, it would make the job so much more interesting.</p><p>Hitching this much of his happiness on a stranger would wind up being a mistake. He didn’t know anything about Scorpius. He had assumptions, but you couldn’t befriend or love someone on that alone.</p><hr/><p>The third time Scorpius came to the café, Albus started to prep his order before he reached the counter. Scorpius smiled at him.</p><p>“Same as normal?” Albus asked.</p><p>“Does it count as normal yet?”</p><p>“Three visits in a week,” Albus shrugged. “Statistically, that’s going to become regular. If I knew anything about statistics.” Scorpius laughed. “Plus, you’re fairly memorable.”</p><p>“Is it the hair?”</p><p>“And the general chaos,” Albus cringed, about to express that it wasn’t a bad thing, but Scorpius laughed again.</p><p>“The normal, please,” he nodded. “And a croissant.”</p><p>Albus rung it all up on the till, and then turned around to finish the drink. He glanced over his shoulder a couple of times, smiling at Scorpius’ absent-mindedly staring around the room. He had to turn around to hide his wider smile when he spotted a small bisexual flag pinned to his jacket.</p><p>Which gave him half a chance.</p><p>Albus shook the thought before it could form. He was working. He could mull this over in the middle of the night when insomnia struck.</p><p>He put the coffee on the counter, going to get the croissant, but when he got back, Scorpius had already disappeared out the door. He returned half a second later, on his way to being out of breath. Albus silently handed him the pastry, smiling and watching Scorpius charge out the door again. </p><hr/><p>Scorpius didn’t like the coffee he had just bought. He hadn’t minded the first time. He’d disliked it the second time. But the third time, and the fourth time,  and every time since, he hadn’t been able to walk past to another shop. The barista behind the counter was inexplicably attractive. That was what it came down to. Not that Scorpius had managed to work up the courage to say anything. He hadn’t even asked his name.</p><p>But he hoped his bisexual pin had sent some sort of message.</p><p>Scorpius glanced at his watch, groaning as he realised he would be late if he stopped to get coffee. But he was running on so little sleep that the caffeine was more necessary than being punctual. He pushed the door open.</p><p>Of course there was a queue today. Scorpius joined it, drumming his fingers against his leg. The queue didn’t move that slowly, but time seemed to have decided to stretch itself for as long as possible.</p><p>About halfway down the queue, the barista caught his eye and cocked his head slightly. Scorpius nodded and the barista smiled, pulling out an additional cup.</p><p>Scorpius wanted to feel bad that he was taking priority, but he was going to be so late that he pushed the feeling down. It was a one off. It was out of his control. It wouldn’t happen again.</p><p>The queue came with another perk of giving Scorpius the time to decide that today would be the day he asked the barista’s name. But despite his confidence and the time it had taken to build up, the barista had already gone to serve the next customer by the time he had paid.</p><p>“Thanks,” he picked up the drink, all but running out of the shop.</p><p>He caught sight of some string of digits next to his name, not taking the time to focus on reading it as he all but jogged down the street towards his university.</p><p>It was only when he made it to class and put the drink down that he read the numbers properly. And the message below.</p><p>
  <em>Text me. –Albus</em>
</p><p>Scorpius’ stomach sank.</p><p>He didn’t even work up the courage to send a text to the barista, to Albus. He tried, a number of times, in the same way that he tried to go to the coffee shop. But the panic tended to be a tad  overwhelming.</p><p>Even now, with the message drafted and redrafted and sat, waiting to go, it had still taken him three days after drafting the message to pluck up the courage to press send. When he had, he had looked for a way to unsend it, but he couldn’t find anything. So the message was sitting in Albus’ inbox. Waiting to be read.</p><p>
  <em>Hey, Albus. It’s Scorpius. Sorry I’ve not texted you. Want to meet up?</em>
</p><p>It was too informal, but anything else was too formal.</p><p>And he hadn’t apologised enough. He didn’t want to ramble about being completely useless and in a constant state of panic. It was too late. He still wanted to try.</p><p>Half of him didn’t expect a reply to the text. It had been two weeks. A guy had given him his number and he had iced him out for two weeks. Albus probably didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.</p><p>Or maybe his phone had broken and he’d gotten a new number and he wouldn’t have gotten the message. That would at least save Scorpius the embarrassment. But the anxiety and anticipation would last weeks.</p><p>Actually, it would last weeks, no matter the outcome.</p><p>Scorpius kept his phone off silent for the rest of the day. It would irritate everyone around him if it went off, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was knowing Albus’ response. If he did respond.</p><p>The reply came back at 14:56.</p><p>
  <em>Hey, Scorpius. It’s nice to hear from you. Please don’t worry about not texting; I sprung it on you a bit. I’d love to meet up with you. Come by the shop at 4? Or let me know if you want to meet up later. Excited xx</em>
</p><p>Scorpius grabbed his phone, confirming the time and saying that he too was ‘excited’. It took five minutes to craft the reply, but he spent most of that time trying to decide whether to add kisses on the end of the text and how many he should add. </p><hr/><p>Albus didn’t know how he made it to the end of his shift without his braining crashing. After he hadn’t seen Scorpius again, he’d assumed that he’d massively fucked it up. But then the text had come through and he had nearly screamed.</p><p>He wished that he was wearing something a little better than his uniform, but he hoped Scorpius wouldn’t comment . He didn’t have any say over company policy, after all.</p><p>When Albus finished his shift, he got ready to leave at lightning speed, hurrying outside to find Scorpius sat on a bench a short way down the street.  Albus smiled, waving as he walked over.</p><p>“Hey,” he sat . “How are you?”</p><p>“I’m – I’m okay,” Scorpius’ hands were trembling. “You?”</p><p>“I’ve been looking forward to this. Since you texted.”</p><p>Scorpius’ eyes lit up. “You have been?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I’m really sorry I didn’t text you. I kept panicking and I didn’t think it was a good idea but I messed it up anyway and – I’m sorry. I’m rambling.”</p><p>“Don’t apologise,” Albus smiled. “Keep going. If you want to.”</p><p>“You get the gist,” Scorpius shrugged. “But thanks.”</p><p>Albus dropped his bag onto the floor, tapping his fingers against his knees.</p><p>“So,” he looked at Scorpius. “What now?”</p><p>“After this?”</p><p>“Do you want to go on a date?” </p><p>“What?” Albus blanked.</p><p>“For a date. What would you want to do?”</p><p>“Something other than getting coffee,” Albus’ shoulders fell as Scorpius chuckled.</p><p>The tension was gone again. Thank god.</p><p>“You’re an art student?” Albus asked. Scorpius nodded. “Please stop me if this is cringy, but there’s a Paint Your Own Pottery Place in town. Do you want to do something like that?”</p><p>“I…” Scorpius bit his lip. “I’m not sure about that.”</p><p>“Oh. Okay.”</p><p>“It’s just – I don’t really paint much now. I stick with charcoal and pastel because painting – it’s just something I used to do with my mum. And since she’s – since she’s gone…yeah.”</p><p>“Oh shit,” Albus breathed. “I’m so sorry. Yeah. Of course we can do something different. It was a weird suggestion anyway.” Pause. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Scorpius nodded.</p><p>Albus didn’t believe him: he kept wiping away small tears when he didn’t think Albus was looking. Albus didn’t comment. This was a private moment for Scorpius and if he needed the silence to fall between them for comfort, Albus would let it fall.</p><p>“Actually,” Scorpius looked up, swallowing. “Could we do that?”</p><p>“Absolutely,” Albus said. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Scorpius tried to smile. “I want to paint again. I haven’t for years and I know she didn’t want me to stop but I’ve just been scared. Starting again, like this, I think I’d be okay. And she’d be proud.”</p><p>“Okay,” Albus smiled back, taking his hand.  “This Saturday? I can text you the details of the place. Or we can meet here and walk in?”</p><p>“I’d like that. Yeah. Walk in?”</p><p>“Okay,” Albus forced himself to breathe normally. “Yeah. Okay. See you on Saturday?”</p><p>“See you on Saturday.” </p><hr/><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So @dorianLC_ asked me to write this before lockdown and I've been waiting for the artwork so we just pushed it to Scorbus fest.<br/>Thanks for reading<br/>Kudos and comments much appreciated<br/>Twitter: @evie_adams273</p><p>Black Lives Matter</p></blockquote></div></div>
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